Kakuzu, the boy who was poor
by horsehidan
Summary: Everything started on that morning. Follow Kakuzu's poor, complicated and sometimes even a merry journey to grow up to the man we knew that he was. I own the characters inside. Non-shipping.


_Knock knock._

_Someone was knocking on the door._

_The grim knock resonating from the old oaken door echoed in the house. Four, no, five knocks. Those five fast strikes of a palmed fist were the worst thing the master of the house could wake up to. Though one could hardly call him a master. Master is a title for such a person who can be recognised far away from the crowd on springmarkets. A master is such man who has money. Money means prestige. Prestige means that the person is looked up to out of respect. Prestige again leads to next thing that then leads to the next and so on. The list is endless; why money turns a boy into a man, and a man into a master. You might guess why the man in question, that the story is however not about, doesn't have the title of master even under his own roof. Lack of money. No one would even agree to look at the person in question if they weren't paid cold hard cash. But such people exist who do their everything and more, in hope of money. The need of money and the pure want to become rich don't however make person a master. Or in this case a mistress. These women in question weren't happy to do work in order to earn their living. No, once you have strayed from the clean path, there's no coming back._

_The knock sounded again._

_The man had been standing outside the front door for a while . He looked at the oaken door as if it was his worst nightmare . Cold sweat ran down his dirty face. The man staggered towards the door , trying to stop shaking . He felt how his heart raced against his ribs almost painfully. The man swallowed hard and grabbed the door handle. He was not just nervous, but also scared. The only thing the man wanted was to escape. Escape far, far away . Away from the door . Out of the house. Out of the country . Out of his life . The man brushed his greasy hair off his eyes. He should have washed up when there was still time. But no, the man had been determined to save water for tomorrow . For tomorrow, he would have gone to the market. Today was supposed to be a lazy day . Today was supposed to be a nothing day. Date when one does not do anything. There was six of these days for a week, twelve for two , eighteen for three , and so on . If the man would have got to decide for himself, then every day would be no day. He hated going to the market. He hated going to the civilisation. Over the years the poor man had learned to ignore the contemptuous stares of the others . Whispering. Ridicule . But the thing that affected the man most was loneliness. Never had anyone loved the man . Hardly his parents either as the man had been left as a toddler on the cold stairs of the orphanage. There was none to be called a friend. Or an acquaintance. He did not know any relatives even by name. The man had been obvious already as a boy that he did not have anyone._

_Before the man realized the door, that's a nightmare, had been opened. Burning rays of the rising sun forced the man to cover his eyes . For God's sake , did he just shy away from the light? The man rubbed his eyes before he had the courage to see who had knocked on his door . This, the man wouldn't have known to expect._

_In front of him did not stand the police , not a lawyer, and not the landlord . No one nor no abomination from the man's nightmares. In front of him were tits. Loose, old tits. Hardly those saggy things could even be called tits. The man observed that unknown person in terror and wonder. A woman? In years he hadn't been visited by females, or anyone other than those previously mentioned nightmares. But there this woman now stood. Bent, but standing up. Woman's beautiful, dark skin was stretched by numerous scars and bruse-like things. The man could not help becoming smitten with his guest's exotic, how should one put it, colouring. The woman was wearing a maroon, threadbare and a occasionally patched revealing dress. The reason why the first thing the man had seen was the woman's cleavage. The man knew that he was not the shortest person in the world but he had to make sure that the woman was wearing high heels to be almost two heads taller than the man. High heels could be found, maroon as well. The woman had also painted her long nails with the same red. The man noticed that the woman's left inner thigh was decorated by a tattoo, which was scribed with numbers. The man did not want to stare at such __**intimate **__area of his guest so he lifted his gase up to the woman's face. The man almost paralysed in fear. The first thing he noticed was the woman's eyes . Emerald green and blood red. Those expressionless, stark eyes seemed as dead as the grass in which the woman was standing. The man took a step back, in fear. He remembered the woman. He forced his gaze away from those dreadful , unnatural eyes . The woman 's face was covered in heavy make-up and there was barely any trace of the aforementioned beautiful dark skin on the woman's painted face. The woman had been trying to hide the bags under her eyes, the bruising on her forehead, as well as all the ... Hickeys? On the woman's neck. The man swallowed hard, he knew this woman sure enough. Before this not-so-unknown guest had time to blink a second time, the man had thrown himself onto his knees on the ground._

_"Have mercy on me!" exclaimed the man, trembling. He grabbed the woman's bony ankle , still trembling in terror. "I did not have e-... enough! I'll pay, I'll pay for sure...," the man almost whined in fear, repeating itself. When there was no answer , the man slowly let go of the woman's ankle and laid his head on the dusty wooden floor. "Now it's over, en-... end of all! Dear God, have mercy on me! Have mercy on this wonderful woman! She's not doing anything else but her job! I knew how much I should have paid! Yes, yes, I knew that! But one half of a penny, I forgot!" the man sighed mournfully, praying to God using as beautiful language as he could._

_" I did not come for your money , Haruki ," came the quiet reply almost all the way from the heavens ._

_Haruki slowly lifted his gaze toward the woman's expressionless faces . He was completely speechless. The woman, that gift from God, hadn't come to get the man behind bars. The woman who remembered his name after all these months._

_"You're -not? " Haruki swallowed audibly and tried to stand up. Slowly, but surely. His legs still trembled, but that momentarily weight, despair, rolled off his heart like a stone off of a cliff. The woman shook her head, her black pigtail-like hair barely moving from their place on the woman's shoulders. Haruki almost had the courage to look at her in the eye._

_"Why are you here?"_

_"I came to bring something belonging to you."_

_"W. .. What ? In my best knowledge I did not leave anything to you..."_

_"Yes, you did."_

_Haruki took another step back , perplexed . He certainly had not left anything at the woman's the last time they met. The man didn't even own anything besides his shack and the clothes on his back. And if he had left something behind, why would the woman come to return it now? Haruki tried to remember what he had taken with himself. In addition to money ... Nothing else. But Haruki paid too little? What could the woman be talking about?_

_Quiet sneeze brought Haruki back from his so-called trance. He looked to his guest who turned to a small bundle that she was carying in her weak arms. Where did that bundle come from? Was it there the whole time? Haruki scratched his head, perplexed, trying to remember what he had supposedly left behind. There was a second sneeze. The woman muttered something quietly to the bundle and turned to Haruki. Haruki did not like the way those green-red eyes looked at him. The woman bit her lip and turned back to the bundle. What was in the bundle? Haruki once owned a cat that he carried in a similar bundle. But the cat had died seven years ago so it at least couldn't be that pet. But it was something alive sure enough._

_" My lady-"_

_"Just say Strumpet."_

_Haruki did not like the name that she called herself. Yes , this woman was a prostitute but Haruki saw no reason why Strumpet couldn't user her own name. "To me you are my lady, Strumpet" he muttered and ran his fingers through his hair, trembling. " A.. a beautiful woman that you are, you could call yourself by a name that you deserve." Strumpet smiled for a moment. Haruki felt how the weight moved back onto his heart. This time out of pity. Strumpet's eyes reflected a long, sad story. Haruki did not know anything of the prostitute, except that she was a prostitute, but could not be help being moved by that lonely look in their eyes . Who knows, maybe because he met the same look every time he saw his own reflection._

_"Everyone call me Strumpet. It is my name. My only name." Strumpet muttered, her low voice steady. "I doubted at first, whether I'm doing the right thing giving him to you. But now I know that I chose correctly." the prostitute took a step towards Haruki and handed him the bundle. Haruki took the bundle, puzzled, and almost dropped it when he saw what was inside._

_Child, no, a baby. That small, delicate creature looked at Harukia with tired eyes. The baby was so small that he did not even have any hair. His skin was lighter than Strumpet's, and his hair more clouded. Haruki did not know what to say and found himself trembling again ._

_"His name is Kakuzu," Strumpet muttered. Haruki could not take his eyes off the baby and swallowed audibly. "My time is not enough for a child. You are his father and it is your responsibility to take care of him," Strumpet added. "W- ... Wait a minute! I'm not his father!" Haruki gasped in panic. "It cannot be! We... We did it only once! It's been-". "Months" Strumpet ended Haruki's sentence. "Eleven months. You are his father. My popularity on the market has dwindled. I have not received any customers after you. You are also the only client ever, who did not have the money for contraception". Haruki was left speechless. It was as if his heart had stopped. He was not there. Not really. He did not exist. Strumpet did not exist. The only thing that existed was the child sleeping in hi arms._

_Haruki felt how his eyes tearing up. He took a deep breath, trying to calm down. This could not happen. This was not real. Kakuzu was not his son. Strumpet remembered incorrectly. But still, that little creature who slept happily inside the bundle... How small he was. Haruki was never the one for children, nor they for him. If things had been differently Haruki could've accepted his fatherhood. "I ... I do not know anything about children! I do not know how to care for them, I do not know how to handle them, and ... " he sighed , and added, "I do not have enough money to take care of him." Strumpet looked around, "You have a roof over your head. I sleep on the streets. I don't have money to even take care of myself". The prostitute turned back to Haruki. She felt uneasy seeing a grownman cry. "Hey ... I know that it is not right to leave a child into your custody", Strumpet muttered, looking at Kakuzu sadly. "But with me he would just suffer. Die within couple of weeks. I had a child before him, Kinujiko. A daughter". Haruki blew his nose on his shirtsleeve, trying to stop crying. "Her father, as you might guess, was my client. I thought that I could keep the child. My daughter was beautiful, and I loved her. You do not know what it is like to live off of sex. One never gets to feel like a person. I cannot love a man. But my daughter, I loved. I took care of her for six month. But when winter came...", the prostitute's voice trembled. "God took her from me. I do not want Kakuzu to suffer like her". Haruki wiped the last tears with the same sleeve._

_"But I cannot take him . Take him to the orphanage. From there, he gets loving parents, the child being so beautiful."_

_"Beautiful? Are you calling Kakuzu beautiful?"_

_"Yes... I think he's very pretty."_

_"Each to their own. Nobody would want a child like him. Every parent wants a child like them, perfect as well as local. I 'm not from around here."_

_" I cannot keep Kakuzu."_

_"Then I'll kill him."_

_Haruki took three steps back, frightened, and pressed Kakuzu against his chest. Was Strumpet serious? Who could kill a baby? And one this pretty? Haruki shook his head slowly. "I'm keeping him! Do not even think about killing Kakuzu! He is my son!". Strumpet smiled. "I knew it. You're a good man . Raise him to be like you, Haruki. The world needs people like you," the prostitute muttered and turned to leave ._

_Haruki watched how Strumpet's tall figure disappeared behind the hill. He turned slowly to look at Kakuzu. Child huffed quietly in his sleep, his chest rising slowly. "Kakuzu,eh?", Haruki muttered. "You will grow up to be a man. A real man. And not a lonely soul like me, whom the world does not need". The rays of morning sun warmed the father's pale face. A cuckoo cuckood in the distance._


End file.
